


.Fun Sized.

by The_Wild_Sophia



Category: Clone High
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, It got a bit out of hand, M/M, Other, idk how to tag this, theres a small fight scene but nothing too bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wild_Sophia/pseuds/The_Wild_Sophia
Summary: You were taller than most people, and much taller than Van Gogh. The fact that you're taller than him never bothers you, but it seems that it bothers him. A lot.
Relationships: Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	.Fun Sized.

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty much a Van Gogh x Tall!Reader idea i got from Wattpad. However I use 'tall' a bit loosely since the fact that the reader is tall is kind of a passive thing. I myself am a tall female so I know what it's like to have a s/o that's shorter than me (all of mine have been shorter than me).  
> I feel like certain parts didn't come out as well because I had in visioned the reader to be female, but I wanted to keep these gender neutral so yeah there's that.

There wasn’t anything you loved more than just lying in bed, Van Gogh pressed to your chest, his short arms wrapped around your neck. Your arms would always find their way around his waist with your chin resting on his head, his bandages scratching your neck. You especially loved the way he’d subconsciously press his face harder into your chest when he was asleep. 

He’s simply small, and you love that about him. That, along with you being taller than average, makes it easy for you to cuddle with him.

Unfortunately, it was only 3rd period and you were currently stuck in English. Without him. But on the bright side, you got to see him next period in Painting II and then you’d have lunch with him. 

Class ended and you were the first out of there. It only took a minute to get to the art classrooms, but you would often wait outside for Van Gogh since you knew he was coming down from the second floor to the first. 

There was only a minute before class started and Van Gogh was nowhere to be seen, so you decided to go up and find him. You knew you’d probably be late to class but you didn’t really care. As you walked up the staircase to the tech wing, you overheard a conversation before you opened the door to the second floor. 

Upon opening the door you’re met with a sight that absolutely enraged you. Pinned against the wall by JFK was Van Gogh, with a few other clones around watching it all unfold. This was one of the more secluded parts of the school so there weren’t any teachers around. You didn’t care to listen to what they were saying to him, you just walked to them, that anger from before boiling over. Van Gogh seemed to notice you approaching because he began to call out name before you cut him off. 

“Y/-” You had turned and grabbed JFK by his collar, who let go of Van Gogh in the process, and pinned him against the wall. You were only a few inches shorter than him, but you were a lot stronger than you led people to believe. The other clones who were nearby had scurried off as soon as you had grabbed him.

“Kennedy.” You started, unable to help the sneer that formed on your lips. You felt Van Gogh’s hands grip at your waist, his cheek against your back.

“If I ever see you lay a  _ finger  _ on Van Gogh again, I will personally make sure you live up to your clone dad’s ‘legacy’.” You finished. You briefly glance behind you, your eyes meeting with Van Gogh’s. However, in that moment, JFK had managed to free his right hand and knocked you in the left side of the jaw. You let go of him, stumbling back a bit. 

“Y/N!” You heard Van Gogh cry. He had already let go of you and back away a few steps. 

“Like I said earlier, short stack,” JFK began, “You can’t stand up for yourself. You’re always having people fight for you.” You rubbed your jaw before turning  “You wanna go, Kennedy? Right here, right now, let’s go.” You said standing up fully.

“No, Y/N, leave it! Let’s just go.” You hear Van Gogh say to you, but you didn’t listen. No one gets the last hit on you. JFK turns towards you before saying, 

“Oh, you’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanna fight you.” 

He tries to hit you with a left hook, you quickly dogging it. You managed to punch him in the left side of his face before you grabbed the back of his neck, bending him forward and kneeing him in the stomach. You heard him cough before letting go of him and backing up. He remains hunched over a moment before quickly standing straight and grabbing you by the arm, punching you just left of your nose. You felt the blood begin to rush from it, but you didn’t care all that much. You returned the favor, punching his in the soft spot right under the jaw. He lets go of you and before he can do anything you bring your foot up and hit him. 

Right in the balls.

It was a cheap shot, one you weren’t too proud of, but you needed to end that fight. He collapses to his knees a strangled noise leaving his throat as you turn back around to face Van Gogh. 

He was stiff, eyes wide with his hands over his mouth. He reached out to you and you bent down to let him touch your cheek. You flinched at his touch and he pulled his hand away.

“Are you alright?” He whispered behind his hand, “Is  _ he  _ gonna be ok?” He asked looking behind you.

“He’ll be fine. At least I think so.” You said standing up and looking back. He was laying on the floor, holding his nuts. You wipe your nose, grimacing at the blood now on your hand. 

“Hey, get to class, alright? I’m gonna go get cleaned up.” You said while walking towards him. 

“No, let me help you.” He said taking your hand. 

“It’s fine.” You said while walking down the staircase together. “It’ll take me a bit and I don't want you being later than you already are.” You said with a smile. Van Gogh frowned as you two stopped in front of the classroom.

“All right.” He said letting go of your hand. 

“Hey, don’t get sad on me now.” You said kissing the top of his forehead, making sure not to get any blood on him. “I’ll be back.” And with that you left heading to the bathroom. 

You washed your face, being mindful of your nose. You went to check it and thankful it wasn’t broken. You patted it dry with a paper towel, noticing the bruise that was starting to form on the left side of your jaw and base of your nose. You then checked your wrist and, sure enough, it was also beginning to bruise where he had grabbed you. You checked the time on your phone. 

_ “Damn, I’ve been in here for 15 minutes?” _ You thought as you straightened out your outfit, checking for blood on it. Finding none you made your way to class. Just as you’re about to leave you realize that there’s only really 20 minutes left and that it would be better just to take an absence than a tardy. You didn’t want to get detention for being late.

You decided to just send a text to Van Gogh telling him you were okay and that you’d be waiting for him at the cafe. You then just worked on homework for the next 20 minutes while waiting for class to end. 

20 minutes later and Van Gogh was one of the first people there. He looked around a moment before you waved to him. He quickly made his way over to you, sitting down and embracing you tightly while pressing his face into your chest. 

“God, why would you  _ do that _ ? What were you  _ thinking _ ?” He said, muffled by your shirt. He pulled back, still holding your hand, and that’s when you noticed the tears that were threatening to fall. “I was so  _ worried  _ about you.” He said, his voice wavering a bit at the end. 

You stared at him for a moment, E/C eyes meeting light blue ones with a frown etched on your face.

“I’m sorry.” You said looking away from him. “It just-It bothers me, okay? It bothers me that people can make fun of you like it’s the best thing ever.” You bit your lip, squeezing his hand a little tighter before continuing. 

“I just…really like you, and I hate it when people make fun of you when they think they can get away with it.” You admitted.

“Y/N…” he whispered. You looked over at him and saw him motioning for you to bend down for him. You did and he pressed a kiss to your cheek, being mindful of the bruise there. 

“You don’t have to do this for me. I’m not worth all this trouble.” He said, his voice trailing off as he spoke. 

“That’s not true!” You said sitting up straight and pressing his head against your chest. “You’re worth anything and everything. Don’t you  _ dare  _ let anyone tell you otherwise.” You look down at him, his cheek still smushed against you. You smiled, “You mean a lot to me, and I don’t mind doing this for you.” 

You let go of him, stroking his cheek as he pulled back. He smiled while placing his hand over top of your’s. 

“I…Thank you, Y/N.” Although it hurt, you smiled as that all too familiar feeling tightened in your chest. 

“Hold on.” Van Gogh said while pulling away from you. He grabbed his lunch bag and from it he pulled out an ice pack, handing it to you.

“Thank you, love.” You said while pressing it against your cheek. It stung for a moment before the coolness began to soothe your aching jaw.

“You know, you really should see the nurse. He’ll probably be able to give you some pain killers.” Van Gogh said while pulling out his lunch. 

“Yeah, but then he’ll start asking questions like ‘Who did this to you?’ and ‘When and where did this happen?’. Which are questions I  _ really  _ want to avoid answering.” You said while mocking the nurse’s voice. 

“Alright, but eat something before we have to go.” He said while taking a bit of his oatmeal. 

“Nah.” You said, “It’ll hurt to eat, all I have are solid foods.” He sighs.

“Want to trade?” He asks, beginning to slide his furnace of oatmeal towards you. 

“Sure, I brought your favorite.” You said with a smirk as you pulled a bag of roasted chestnuts out and slid your lunch bag over to him. You made sure you always had a bag of them since you knew he enjoyed them a lot. They were one of the only things he ate, along with bread, butter, and coffee.

“Ooooo give me!” He said snatching the bag from you. You chuckled as you watched him eat. It was always nice knowing that he was eating. 

You picked up the spoon and started eating yourself when a familiar group of students walked over to join you; Abe, Joan and Gandhi. 

Abe seemed like such a scumbag to you. He acts like he cares about a girl’s personality when it comes to dating them, but really, he mainly cares about how they look. 

You and Joan were actually pretty cool with each other. You’ve had some really nice conversations with her, some casual and others more serious. She was actually the one to convince you to join the team crisis hotline, which is where you met Van Gogh. 

You’d have to thank her for that sometime. 

And Gandhi…Don’t even get you started on Gandhi. You absolutely hated the stunt he pulled that night with Van Gogh when he was “drunk.” Sure, he ended up apologizing for it, but it was still a shitty thing to do to someone who was trying to get help. 

It seemed that Van Gogh felt the same way that you did since you saw him give Gandhi a glare as he sat down, one that Gandhi clearly didn’t see. 

“What brings you three here?” You ask. Joan was the first to speak.

“We saw what you did to JFK. That…was you right?” She asked. 

“Maybe. What of it?” You replied. 

“Well, I just wanted to see if you were alright, make sure he didn’t beat up on you too much-” Joan says before being cut off by Abe.

“Yeah. And thanks for beating the crap out of him. Someone had to put him in his place.” He says. You watch as he raises his hand for a high five and you just stare at it for a second before returning to eating the oatmeal. 

“I didn’t do it for you.” You said between bites, “I did it for Van Gogh.” 

“Jeez, what’s with you two. You got a crush on him or something?” Gandhi asks… _ loudly _ . A few people had turned and looked at you two before you glared at him, making him calm down a bit. You moved your hand over to Van Gogh’s under the table.

“Well,” Joan started while getting up, “Text me if you need help taking care of those bruises. And try to stay out of fights, Y/N.” The other two follow her as she turns around.

“Can do, Captain Ark.” You said with a mock salute. She smiles before walking away, Abe and Gandhi following her. 

You and Van Gogh continue eating, the bell ringing soon after the two of you finished. You swapped bags again before leaving. Before you left his side, however, Van Gogh stopped you.

“Hey, stop by my dorm sometime this afternoon or evening. After you finish your work.” He asks. You agree before leaving to go to 6th period.

\------------

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful with you simply going to your afternoon classes. The closer you got to the end of the day the more stares you got from people. Was the bruising really getting that bad?

On your way out of the school and to your dorm yo stopped by the bathroom to check your injuries. 

Yikes. Those did not come out so pretty.

The one your jaw had formed into a mass of black and dark purple that consumed the entire lower half of your left jaw. Your nose made it look like you had been hit in the face by the butt of a rifle (A/N: that’s happened to me and I genuinely thought it had broken my nose, but thankfully it didn’t). Your wrist wasn’t too bad, although it hurt like hell to flex your hand.

You left the bathroom and quickly headed to your dorm to finish your work for the day. You had already finished some of it during lunch so it didn’t take as long normally. You had finished within three hours, all the while icing your injuries, changed and made you way over to Van Gogh’s dorm room. You had brought over some Morrocan stew, a vegetarian one of course, you made last night and rye bread for him.

You knocked on his door before he answered. His eyes widened with a frown on his face and didn’t greet you, simply moving aside to let you in. 

“Hey,” You said, “I brought you dinner.” You held up the bag for him to see.

“Thanks just…leave it on my desk.” He says gesturing to his desk and sitting on his bed. You set the bag down and look at him. He looks terrible; the orange-red hair that was visible was a mess, his face flush and eyes somewhat red. You frowned as you pieced things together.

“What’s wrong?” You asked while sitting next to him on the bed. You noticed the way he slightly shifted away from you.You frown as you wait for him to answer.

His mouth opens a few times with nothing coming out and he makes a few strange faces before saying, 

“Do you think I’m… _ short _ ?” He asks and you look at him for a moment. 

“I mean,” He continues, “I know I’m ‘short’, but do you think I’m  _ short _ ?” You eyebrows knit in confusion before you asked, 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Answer me.” He said firmly. You stared at him a moment, his gaze never meeting yours.

“No, I don’t think you’re  _ short _ .” You answer him, “Now answer  _ me _ . Why are you asking?” You saw him tense before sighing. 

“It’s just…the conversation with JFK I had earlier,” He started and you felt your face grow warm with anger, “He said that you only hang around me because you felt bad for me, and that-that you stand up for me because you know I can’t stand up for myself.” He finished, his voice cracking at the end. Even though he wasn’t looking at you, you could still see the tears that were forming in his eyes. 

“I guess he’s right.” He whispered while gripping the sheets, “Just look at what happened to you. This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t have to always get me out of trouble.”

“Vincent,” You whispered, “Look at me.” He reluctantly looked over at you, face flush with tears. You quickly grabbed him, pressing him into the bed with a surprised noise escaping his lips. You cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

“Don’t you ever, and I mean  _ ever _ , let anyone make you believe those kinds of things about yourself, do you hear me? You mean so much to me and you have no idea how much I love you.” You said, your face only mere inches away from his. “Do you understand? Don’t let anyone mess with your confidence like that.” Your jaw hurt from talking so much.

You saw him smile, his eyes beginning to water again. You brushed your hand through his hair, bending down to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, Y/N. That really means a lot to me.” Van Gogh whispered. You could taste the saltiness of his tears on your lips when you pulled away from him. 

You got off of him, letting him sit up on the bed. You pulled him into your lap, your chin resting on his head -- being mindful of your jaw -- and arms wrapped around his torso. You gently rocked him in your lap, whispering comforts to him. His face was pressed almost painfully into your chest but you didn’t mind. After a few minutes you asked him, 

“Are you feeling better now?” That warm, all consuming, feeling began to well up in your chest when he pulled away, a smile present.

“Yeah. A lot better actually.” He said. 

“Good. So if you wouldn’t mind…” You began, sliding him off of your lap, “I’m going to go heat up dinner for you.” You said grabbing the bag and heading over to his kitchen area. 

“Do you still have work you need to do?” You ask while reheating the stew. While that was heating up you started cutting the bread. 

“Yeah, but not much. It can wait.” He said while trying to look into the pot on the stove, “Ooo, is that rye?” He asks when his eyes drifted over to what you were cutting. 

“Yes, and if you don’t have a lot of work left then just finish it now while this heats up.” You said, gently pushing him out. He pouts before going off to do his work. 

10 minutes later and you were done preparing everything. You fixed a bowl of stew and bread for Van Gogh before heading over to him. He didn’t seem to notice you approaching him because he flinched when you placed the bowl to his right. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” You apologized sheepishly. 

“It’s fine,” He says while grabbing a piece of bread and dipping it in the stew, “Thank you,  _ liefde _ .*” You smiled before walking back into the kitchen to get yourself some. 

The two of you ate in relative silence since he was still working. When he had finished he walked into the kitchen, placed his dishes in the sink and sat down with you. He handed an ice pack to you, which you quickly accepted.

“You’re a really good cook, you know that?” He says with a smile.

“You are too, when you choose to cook.” You said with a chuckle. Van Gogh checked the time while you continued to eat. 

“It’s almost 10, did you want to stay here tonight?” He asked looking back at you. 

“Only if you’re okay with it.” You say getting up and placing your bowl in the sink. You put the ice pack back in the freezer.

“Of course.” You hear him say behind you. You and him both walked back over to the bedroom, grabbing something to change into. 

You have a small, plastic storage container in the corner of Van Gogh’s room that had a few pairs of clothing. Van Gogh has the same thing in your room too. You go into the bathroom to change, Van Gogh simply changing in his room. You knock on the door to tell him you’re coming out before exiting the bathroom wearing your night clothes. It wasn’t much; just a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Van Gogh wore much of the same, although opting for long sleeves and pants instead. 

He quickly crawled into bed and motioned for you to join him.

“Let me put my clothes away first.” You said with a smile and a chuckle. Even in the dark you saw his pout and crossed arms as you made your way to the corner of the room. After putting your clothes away you made your way to the bed. You weren’t even half way under the covers when you heard him say,

“Come on,” While scooting closer to you, “Hold me!” He whined as he looked up at you with pleading eyes. You look at him for a moment in the dark before crossing your arms saying,

“You know what? No, I  _ won’t  _ hold you.” You turned your chin up and looked away from him. You heard him fake gasp and you couldn’t help the smile that creeped its way onto your face.

“Well! I can’t believe it. All this time I thought you  _ loved  _ me.” He said in mock sadness. “I suppose I was a  _ fool  _ to think you’d love me.” 

You slowly turn your head to look at him before giggling and grabbing him from behind. You heard him laugh and my  _ God  _ that laugh was perfect. Lighthearted and full of joy and everything about it made you smile and laugh yourself. 

His laughter died down when he felt you wrap your arms around him tighter, curling around him from behind. You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck as you breathed in the scent of his soft, orange hair. He shifted in your arms slightly but didn’t try to pull away. Not like he wanted to; he loved being the little spoon with you. 

“Ow, careful of my wrist.” You whispered when he moved a little too much.

“Sorry.” He apologized.

It was quiet for a while, and for a moment it seemed like one of you would fall asleep; but right before one of you did you spoke up.

“Vincent,” You whispered.

“Yeah?” He answered after a moment. 

“You’re not short,” You tell him, “And if JFK, or anyone for that matter, tells you otherwise I want you to tell them this.” You pause.

“Tell them what?” He asks.

“Tell them,” You begin, “‘I’m not short, I’m fun sized.’”

Although you couldn’t see it, Van Gogh’s face lit up with that gorgeous peach color as a smile graced his features. 

“I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Liefde": Dutch for "Love"


End file.
